Every Rose Has Its Thorns - A Nova Quarksen Story
by nQoder
Summary: This is the story of a Nord named Nova Quarksen, set during the the time of the Elder Scrolls Online, and her struggles that will lead her to the current time of ESO. I own nothing except the character concept. Rated M for eventual violence, language, and suggested themes. Work in progress (and very slow going at that).
1. Chapter 1 - The Quality of a Name 2E 572

My name is Nova Quarksen. I am a Nord of 20 winters, and I am now the last Quarksen alive - apparently. The Akaviri sacked Windhelm some seasons ago while I was on the road and I had received the message when I stopped in Riften a couple moons after the attacks. I enter Windhelm now to settle everything with the estate. I am not looking forward to any of this. I'd much rather eat raw netch eggs than go back to Windhelm, especially to deal with family affairs, but I can't have messengers and officials coming after me everywhere I go either. I didn't leave Windhelm just to have it follow me everywhere I go.

I left home 5 years ago. My family were dishonorable and racist people when no one was looking and my father...had his problems. He was a soldier until he took an arrow to the knee. He got enough of a pay out thanks to having received promotion after promotion while in service and he was able to provide a quite comfortable life for us, if we ignored his thirst for expensive mead or his hunger for gambling and wenches.

I had gone to Riften after I left Windhelm, but I didn't find anything better there. I stayed in the Mage's Guild for a little bit, then they turned me over to the Fighter's Guild when, while I was capable of using Magicka, I didn't show the amount of interest in its pursuit as the Guild would have liked. The Fighter's Guild put me to work cleaning up after their ranks to pay for my room and board. I didn't mind the arrangement, even if it was putrid work, as I would have a small amount to put away every month and I was given an opportunity to learn how to fight, not to mention that it wasn't Windhelm. Once I saw my 18th winter I had saved up enough for a horse, meager leathers, a short sword, and I took to the road. I adventured around a bit, helped farmers with wolves, bears, or other troubles for a few coins here and there. One time I even investigated a haunted cave for a hunter I found on the side of the road with a broken leg. After travelling around the Rift a bit I had made enough to afford some proper iron armor, a shield, and a better weapon, and that's when I returned to Riften and ran into that damned messenger that brought me here to the Cold Moon Inn.

After stabling my horse and checking in with Irghild, the inn keeper, I walk up the stairs to take my things to the shared room and plan to change into more "city attire"; a faded viridian tunic with oak trim, dark brown pants that are a little short for my now longer legs, a matching dark brown leather belt, and worn light leather boots.

I take a moment to look over my armor's fittings to check for signs of ware. I had found a traveling merchant on my way out of Riften who had a Breton set of iron armor at a rather attractively affordable price. I should have known the deal was a bit too good to be true. By the time I reached Whiterun, I had to have a proper blacksmith repair all of the pieces to the point that I could have paid for half of a whole new set. Satisfied that the repairs were holding together, I put my armor away into the trunk by the small bed I would be borrowing along with my travel bag, lock the trunk, and place the key in a safe spot near my heart. I had taken a few coins from my travel bag and placed them in a smaller pouch that I tied to my belt. I quickly check the pouch to make sure I'll have enough for a bite to eat maybe a repair kit when I go into town.

Looking in the faded mirror above the water basin, I notice I look a bit tired and out of sorts. Fitting, given the state of the city, still recovering from the destruction that caused me to return. The puffy darkness under my eyes show my lack of sleep the past few nights. My skin looks paler than a draugr in moonlight. My hair looks like the coarsest horse hair on a child's doll. I run my hands through my short chin-length chestnut brown hair, trying to get it to smooth and properly frame my face, but end up getting frustrated and tucking the side near the part behind my ear, making my forehead even more prominent. With a sigh that blows up the strands of hair not tucked behind an ear, and a slight twitch in my right eye, I give in to defeat and leave the room to make my way to the inn's common area with the intentions of eating a warm meal and having a mug of something strong enough to fight off the constant bitterness in the air.

I choose a table close to the fire and sit down with my back to the warmth, thinking about a warm bowl of stew, maybe some cheese and a piece of bread to go with it, and how lucky it would be if there were decent honey mead in this horrible city. Fantasizing over a meal I wouldn't have to catch, kill, and cook myself, I notice a presence almost looming over me and blocking the warmth from the fire, replacing it with a revolting smell that reminds me of sweat and mildly of rotting flesh. So much for luck, but what could I expect while in Windhelm.

I turn in my spot on the bench and look up at the man to see a fancy-dressed horker looking excuse for a Nord. He even has a scraggly grey mustache struggling to grow on his upper lip. He noisily clears his throat and sways his gigantic gut forward on the toes of his feet while trying to catch one hand with the other across the expanse of his back, teetering in a way that makes you wish he were closer to the ice water outside the walls, waiting to be addressed in an obviously impatient manner. Apparently he's important for some reason and I ought to know who he is.

"Looks like you're having trouble finding your place, friend," I said in a tone that fell flat of friendliness. "Guarantee if you continue standing over me like that, I'll show you where it is."

He huffed about for a few candle drips, seemingly trying to form the words to mount a counter but to no avail, only furthering his horker resemblance.

"Young lady," he finally managed to say in a voice that surprised me at him not sounding like a beast, "I'll have you know you are speaking to Ulran Gjansson."

I look at him with a bit more attention now, the name seeming familiar, and quirk an eyebrow at him. Dark blue padded cloth trimmed with gold, matching pants, shiny leather boots, a thick gold chain hanging around his neck, and enough rings to make every woman in the city green with envy. The only Nords I know that have that much time to polish their toes so nicely usually has enough money to pay someone else do it for them, work for the Jarls, or deal with handling property. Whatever he is, this milk drinker is probably here about the estate. I shouldn't be surprised that I couldn't even get an hour to eat before dealing with this. I roll my eyes at the way his whiskers twitch in the silence and let out a disgruntled breath.

"Quit acting like someone stole your sweet roll and sit down then, Ulran," I say to him indicating the bench across the table from me. A few huffs later and the bench on the other side of the table creaked from he strain of his weight. "Tell me what business you've got with me and make it quick. I'm hungry and you're keeping me from my meal."

"How dare-" he starts as the veins pulse through the wrinkles of his face and neck. "You are every bit the brigand your father said you had become, may his soul find Sovengarde," Ulran retaliated in what I'm sure he thought to be an angry manner but ended up being as weak as a baby mud crab's pincer. I nearly spit in his face, but being the better Nord here I show some restraint and merely glare a hole through his head, which is enough for him to shut up and visibly gulp. I lean towards the horker across from me and cross my arms over the table, trying to make my glare even more intimidating.

"I see. So you knew the Quarksen clan and you know who I am," I say, narrowing my eyes. Great. He might not be here about the estate, but he's a friend of my father's, meaning he was probably a friend of my mother's and the rest of them. The company my family would keep were usually just as two faced as them if not worse. "If you're looking to help my father find Sovengarde, I can help you find passage," I say lowly. Bringing myself back up, leaning back into my chair and crossing my arms over my chest, I find I have lost my appetite for tonight which only serves to make me as irritable as a skeever who's cheese wheel was taken from him by giants. "If that's your business with me, you'll have to give me a quarter of a candle mark to buy a new sword because I won't be staining mine with filth like you." Ulran is now looking at me as if I were a dragon with nine heads. Good.

"Now listen here girl," he sputters, turning an interesting shade of beet in he face. "I will not be spoken to in this manner. I came by to help the misled daughter of a dead friend, just to be treated worse than a beggar at the city gates," I snort to his comment, knowing full well those beggars are leagues ahead of this dung pile to getting in Sovengarde. "If you want to act like a no-name brigand, then I shall treat you as such and offer no helping hand here. I-" I loudly thump my fist onto the table so he'll stop his tirade and interrupt him before he can continue further.

"I needed nothing from the Quarksens and I certainly don't need anything from their 'friends'. I'm no charity case-"

"You will be soon, young lady," Ulran interrupts me, trying to regain his momentum. I clench my jaw shut tightly and can feel my temple starting to pulse. "Your father's estate-"

"You mean 'my' estate." I intervene again. He flusters for a hair's width of time and then continues on.

"-is worthless. Actually, it is less than worthless. Between the back-taxes owed, and the damage cause to city property, let alone neighboring property-" I interrupt again with both hands coming down on the table as I stand, the bench screeching back behind me in a hurried manner.

"Who are you to come here, forestall my supper, and tell me of my inherited affairs from a family I want nothing to do with?!" I growl out at him with narrowing eyes. Ulran stands from his seat on the other bench, its feet scraping back at a much slower pace than mine had, still the same shade of beets in the face.

"I am Ulran Gjansson, Secretary to the Treasury of Windhelm, and I have an ear in the goings on of this city. Your father was a great man, a hero to the city for his service, and he was never the same after he lost his daughter to her own selfish ways." He throws wicked grin my way, seeming more confident than he had been this entire conversation now that he knows he's holding game pieces I can't see. "I will guarantee you this girl, Windhelm will not be the only debt collector coming for your hide, and I bet we will all get our pound of flesh from you before you leave." He starts to head for the door, taking his time with the way he waddles, but he stops and looks to me again before taking the exit. "If you try to leave Windhelm before matters of your father's estate are setlled, Ms. Quarksen, the guards are on orders to arrest you and put you straight into the city dungeons," Ulran offers with what sounded like something between a belch and a chuckle and he finally leaves the inn.


	2. Chapter Two - Three to One 2E 572

Chapter Two - Three to One - 2E 572

It's been a handful of days since I saw the backside of Ulran wobble his way out of the Cold Moon Inn. I wish I could say that the days since have been better to me, but then I'd be more of a liar than my sister Anaka. Seems that word has gotten out that I've finally made it to the party, and it looks as if everyone's expecting to put the mead on my tab.

So far, I've had three visitors that have decided to find me at the inn since Ulran. As the tusk-less horker mentioned, they're all looking for the bits and pieces my family owed them - which means now I owe them, thank Azura's tits. The first was a young boy, obviously plucked from one of the better-to-know families to work for Windhelm. He was nothing more than a runner really.

I was sitting at the same table by the fire, where I had that enlightening exchange with Ulran, drinking a mug of bitter tasting dregs, when the boy came through the door along with a strong gust of cold. I watched him go to the counter and talk to Irghild, who listened to him and then nodded in my direction. The boy was a small slip of a thing, barely standing a head above Irghild's counter. It was actually somewhat humorous to watch him turn, lay one eye on me, then immediately turn back to Irghild . She laughed and smiled at the boy, came around the counter, and walked him over to me. She left us, giving the boy a wink and promise that I wouldn't bite any harder than he could handle. Irghild had gotten used to my presence at her family's inn and we've gotten to know each other a bit over my time here so far. She had heard of my family, but didn't really know them, which made me like her all the more.

The boy held out a sealed parchment for me, shaking like a leaf in the wind. I took a moment to look at the offering, then to him, then to the parchment again before I let an eyebrow rise. I nodded to the table and grinned at the boy - or at least I thought I grinned. It might have been interpreted as a snarl by the boy as he immediately dropped the message on the table in front of me, turned on heel, and ran out the door of the inn, struggling to close it behind him against the wind. After he left, Irghild came back to my table carrying my dinner with obvious signs of humor in her eyes. As she set the plate in front of me she told me that the boy had asked her where he would find a mercenary or a bandit that was in town to bury family. I didn't find the boy's titles for me as tickling as Irghild, but she was laughing enough for the both of us as she walked away.

Left to myself and my meal, I took a bite of bread before picking up the envelope that had been delivered to me. After I set the bread in my other hand down on the plate, I flipped the envelope over to see a red wax seal of Windhelm. I opened the envelope and broke the seal. Pieces of wax landed in my stew and slowly melted away, looking a bit like gore floating in my meal. I grimaced at that "good" omen, pushed my plate away, and grabbed my mug to empty what was left down my throat.

I unfolded the letter and quickly scanned it before it crumpled in my fist and found itself in the fire. I watched as it burnt down to nothing and I could see the over-embellished signature of Ulran smolder away. The letter basically defined what Windhelm wanted from me for the unpaid property taxes, which has been as many years unpaid as I've been absent from Windhelm, as well as property damages to the city. In light of the letter coming from Ulran's hand, I can only imagine the terror he fed to that boy before sending him to the inn to deliver his letter.

The second visitor came a couple of days after Ulran's letter as the son of a neighboring family. His name is Rhoric Bjansen and he's a good few seasons ahead of me. He definitely grew like a weed over the years since I last saw him. I had been taller than him for most of our childhood. The year he left Windhelm, he had managed to catch up to me in height, but I still stood a few hairs taller. Now I find I actually have to look up to see his face as he's about a whole head taller than me now. Other than being taller and having grown a beard, nothing else really changed about him. I had at least thought that the military would toughen his hide a bit, maybe give him a few scrapes and scars, but I can see his unblemished face and brown eyes are still too gentle and his brown beard grows just a bit too straight to have seen any real hardships in the field.

When we were children, we used to play with a rope swing hanging from an old tree on my family's property. Neither of us knew who had put the swing up, but it never really matters to children how things come to be. We would take turns climbing up on the wooden disc that was tied to the end of the rope and holding on with all we had while the other would push and spin the swing.

When I was about eleven winters into this life, and Rhoric was probably about sixteen winters in, my father had tried to sell me off to Rhoric in an arranged marriage. The Bjansen family had refused my father's offer as there was no dowry being put forth other than the tying together of our two families. That was the last time I saw Rhoric before he left to join the army.

Rhoric hadn't come to see me for a social visit though. Turns out his family's house was damaged by that same tree from our childhood when it fell during a bad winter storm before the attack. They had been fighting with my mother over the expenses for repairs and my father, while in one of his many drunken stupors, had promised Rhoric's mother money as well as "other things" for compensation. I promised Rhoric that I would have the money to him as soon as the estate was settled and that I wouldn't be leaving without seeing to it. We had a few drinks and shared a few stories before he left me with an apologetic smile.

The third visitor I never saw. I just found a note this morning left on top of my belongings inside the trunk I keep locked and the key on my person at all times. The note itself was nondescript; no distinct markings, no signature, no scents, nothing special about the parchment it was written on or the ink it was written with. The lettering was penned in such a way that I could not tell if it was inked by a man or woman, young or old, rich or poor. It was very business like, right to the point, and no chasing around the bush or having to figure some stupid riddle or some other nonsense like that - just how I like things to be.

I place the note in my pocket and head downstairs to see about getting some breakfast. The sun had just started to come up and the twilight gave the common area of the inn a fairly magical glow. Staring into the faint streams of light, one could see the bits of dust floating peacefully, barely shifting in the air. There is a sense of calm that feels like it wants to comfort me, but it won't work. I can't get my mind off the fact that someone had been into my belongings without me knowing. More than that, I want to know when it happened. I don't like the idea of anyone getting that close to me and me not knowing any better of it.

I decide to sit at the same table by the fire again. Irghild catches my glance from her counter and walks over to me. I grin at her and mutter a morning greeting. She smiles back, wishing me a good morning as well, and sits across the table from me.

"Goodness, Nova," she says, while trying to stifle a yawn behind the back of her hand and squinting at the mild light coming through the windows. "I think you're the first guest I've had here who gets up with the sun." I chuckle a bit at her dramatics and she smiles back while rubbing the side of her face in an effort to wake up a bit more. "What would you like for food this morning? And don't you go saying anything vulgar again Nova! I swear, I thought my face would have fell right onto the floor if you had made me blush any more than you did the other morning." This time I can't help but laugh.

"Oh come now Irghild, you know I was only playing around. I think all of Skyrim knows better than to try anything with Belrand's woman," I say with a wink at her, knowing that would easily raise her temper, especially this early in the morning. She crosses her arms at my comment, puffing out a cheek as she looks away.

"Please," she says with exasperation, "until that man stops seeing those skeevers at the tavern, he'll have no claim on me." I laugh again, her comparison of the local night girls to skeevers making me imagine all sorts of debauchery happening at the the Sober Nord.

"Speaking of skeevers," I start as I dig into my pocket for the note I found earlier that morning, "have you noticed anyone behaving strangely or asking about me last night?" Irghild looks at me with a confused look and shakes her head to say no as I put the note on the table in front of her. "All right, how about this then?" I ask, nodding at the parchment. "Recognize the handwriting at all?" Again she shakes her head and picks up the note to get a closer look at it.

"Meet me in the Hall of the Dead tonight? You know Nova, that doesn't sound very romantic." She shakes her head again and hands the note back to me. I stare at the single line written on the parchment for a moment and then fold it and return it to my pocket once again. Propping my head up with my hand as my elbow meets the table, I let out an exasperated sigh of my own.

"Sure, because romance is what I'd expect to find in Windhelm." I sigh again. "Guess I'll find out what that's about later on tonight then." Irghild looks at me with wide eyes filled with apparent concern.

"You can't seriously be thinking of going to the Hall! You don't know who it's from or what they want! What if they're trying to hurt you, or capture you, or-" I quickly bring my hands up in front of me as a sign of surrender to get her to stop the avalanche of her thoughts.

"Look, I know what this could be. Chances are, this is just another person looking for whatever it is the Quarksens owe them, and chances are I'll be paying plenty of coin for it," I say as I shrug. Coin is all anyone wants from me since I've gotten here, so it isn't any surprise to me.

"But Nova, if they want to see you late at night, in a secluded place, with no witnesses, do you honestly think they only want coin?" The way Irghild's forehead is wrinkling up with every word shows me how worried she is. I shrug again, trying to ease her mind.

"Irghild, I'm a big bad bandit now remember? This mean ol' mercenary can handle it," I reassure her with a grin. She still seems unconvinced, with the way the corners of her mouth fall into a frown. I can't blame her. The request does smell like a trap, especially given how the message was delivered, but at the same time I really don't care. If I get killed in the Hall of the Dead, then at least I won't need to worry about someone dragging my body across Tamriel. I keep my grin on and, lifting my head off my hand to let my arm fall to the table, lean towards her. "If you want, you could accompany me for a moonlit walk tonight after I take care of the other two requests I've gotten," I tell her with a wink. Finally, her frown cracks into a smile and she pats my arm while shaking her head and standing from the table.

Before Irghild walks off, she turns back to me and asks, "You want some eggs to go with that thick head of yours?" I nod my head happily.

"Yes, and plenty of cheese on top, if you'd please," I reply with an exaggerated smile, like a child asking for a new wooden sword at the market. Irghild laughs as she heads to the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3 - A Twilight of Friendships

I feel trapped in this city. What I wouldn't give to be out on the road, next to a warm open fire in the wild, staring up at the stars that have been the best company I've ever had, next to my horse Argo of course. The stars, like my mare, don't expect anything from me and let me choose my own way. If I want to go East, then damn it, I go East. Not in Windhelm. If I want to go East in Windhelm, I'd better have enough coin to pay off who ever I happen to run into next, and my funds were running dry very fast.

The sun had already hit its peak in the sky and started its decent a while ago, meaning I have loss more than the first half of the day now. After having breakfast with Irghild this morning, I went to the city bank and then to my estate. I had been avoiding that trip but couldn't put it off any longer. I don't know if it was my family's neglect of the property or the attacks that caused the majority of the damage, but either way there's only ruins left now. I did manage to get down into the cellar and find a couple of old trinkets from my childhood, which surprised me, but nothing else was left beyond that. My mother had a collection of esoteric knickknacks I was hoping to find that might have fetched a pretty purse here and there, especially in the right markets, but they were gone, likely looted at some point or another. Of course, this means Ulran was right. The place is less than worthless, and admitting this, even if only to myself, has set me into a very unpleasant mood.

I had also stopped off at Rhoric's after visiting my inheritance. He wasn't there and neither was his mother. I did see his sister, Lilija. She and I had never quite gotten on with each other. Shortly after Rhoric left for the military, Lilija had started passing stories around the city that the reason her brother and I weren't betrothed was due to my tom-boyish inclinations. It never bothered me and I think that only added to her fire. I do have one or two faded memories of Lilija being upset that when we'd play with dolls together, her's would end up with a sharp stick plunged into it by mine. Needless to say, that visit is hardly worth mentioning for how short it was. I simply gave her a sealed envelope and told her to give it to her mother before I left. In the envelope is a note from the Bank of Windhelm with which Rhoric or his mother could claim the money I left for them. As I left Lilija, I did have a bit of a wicked grin knowing full well she would try to claim the money and tell her mother that I shorted them. It was worth the extra coin to have the bank ensure that only Rhoric or his mother would lay hands on it.

I still have a handful of candle marks to go before darkness takes over the skies as I enter the Cold Moon Inn. I walk upstairs and lay myself down on my borrowed bed hoping to catch a little sleep just in case tonight's engagement goes the way I expect. As I stare at the rafters above me I find my mind restless with concerns over the last two debts I have to deal with before I can finally leave this ring of hell, which would be Ulran's bill and the mystery I'll find out about tonight. The money I left for Rhoric's mother was nearly everything I had left, aside from my daily expenses at the inn, and I'm starting to feel that I'll be lucky to still have my head by the end of all this. I had figured on having to work off some of what's owed, but not as much as it's turning out to be. I don't know why I had put any hope in selling the property or my family's belongings. I should have known that even in death those bastards will still drag me into the muck with them. I don't know how I'll come up with the funds to satisfy Ulran, let alone this stranger, within the walls of this desolate pit of a city, and I'll hang myself from those rafters before slaving for Windhelm.

"Nova?" My eyes snap open at the call of my name. I turn my head towards the night stand next to me and look at the candle. I must have dozed off at some point during my worries as it had to be close to midnight now, judging from how much of the candle was now melted. I look over to the source of the voice as I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit up to see Irghild standing in the threshold of the shared room. I stretch out the cramps in my shoulders and try to smooth out my hair, not being one who likes to be disheveled in the presence of company, even if company for me is rare in itself.

"Good evening Irghild," I say to her as I stand, go to the chest containing my belongings, and unlock it. She watches me as I lay out my armor, sword, and cloak on the bed, crossing her arms and leaning against the door way.

"So, you're going to the Hall then?" she asks, her forehead wrinkling again with concern. I let out a small snort of half amusement and stop what I'm doing to face Irghild.

"Of course I am, and I'll be prepared for whatever is to come," I try to reassure her. She enters the room, her arms still crossed and almost hugging herself. "It's better if I go tonight, ready and armed. If I don't, then imagine what might happen if whoever this is comes for me and I'm not prepared," I add in, placing a hand on her shoulder so that she knows I'm sure of my decision. I turn back to the bed and pick up my chest piece, looking over the fittings as I unfasten them.

"Then I will accompany you," Irghild states in a rather firm voice. I let my chest piece fall back to the bed and turn my head to her with both of my eyebrows raised.

"You will not," I protest as I pick up my shift and go behind the screen in the room to change.

"You invited me along this morning, did you not? I'm accepting your invitation for, what was it you said, a moonlit stroll?" she counters, using my own words to try and get her way in the matter. Having finished putting on the shift, I go back to the bed and start putting on my leathers and armor, saying nothing further. Once my sword was in place, I pick up my cloak and turn to Irghild again.

"Irghild, your concern over me is endearing," I say as I swing the cloak around my shoulders and start to fasten the clasps, "but you have to understand, I'll not have you targeted simply for accompanying me. This is my debt now, no one else's, not yours." I move to walk past her but stop when we are shoulder to shoulder. "I can defend myself fair enough, but I can't defend us both," I say quietly, not wanting anyone else to hear that I am not capable in some way. She turns her head towards me but I keep my sight towards the door. "If I happen to not return in the morning, there is a purse in my trunk with enough coin to cover my stay here and my meals, plus a bit extra." With that, I take off out of the room, down the stairs, and out the door of the Cold Moon Inn.

Once outside, I pull my hood up and start walking towards the Hall of the Dead. Secunda and Masser were travelling across the star filled sky with not a cloud in sight, making for a chilly night in the city. Few people are out in this cold, most heading for either their homes or the tavern, others are beggars or the type I prefer to avoid if possible.

Having quickly made it to my destination, I enter the antechamber and take down my hood. An elderly man, a Priest of Orkey judging from his robes, shuffles into the room to greet his guest.

"Welcome to Windhelm's Hall of the Dead," he said in an ancient sounding voice followed by a rough cough. "We invite you to pay respect to the fallen, but ask that you not venture into the catacombs as it is currently unsafe. Enjoy your stay." I quirk an eyebrow up at him as he wouldn't give me a chance to speak. His eyes flick over my left shoulder before he turns and begins his shuffle out of the room. Sure he was gone, and hopefully somewhere safe, I turn to face the corner of the room the priest indicated.

"The old man's gone," I call out as my hand grips the hilt of my sword hidden under my cloak. "Might as well come out and state your business now. I don't care much for being summoned to a place like this at such an hour."

"My dear Nova," responds a voice I had not heard in some time but recognize easily enough, causing my grip to loosen and then tighten as I drop into a defensive stance.

Following where the voice came from, I can see her moving in the shadows. She dramatically enters the light and props one hand on her hip above her daggers as her dark cloak falls behind her shoulder. Her hair is still long, flowing, and dark as night. Her face hadn't changed a bit with its carved features, glowing skin, ruby lips, and sharp dark eyes that graze over me as she smirks.

"Let go of that silly toy you call a sword. Really, is this any way to treat an old friend?" she asks in that haughty tone she used the first time we met as the fingers of her free hand dance around the pommel of her sword. A sword I remember well. I bring myself up out of my stance and into one that hopefully looks confident, pushing my own cloak back to reveal to her that I am better armed now than I was back then, and cross my arms over my chest as I lift my chin at her.

"Hmph, a friend like you, who needs to worry about things like wispmothers?" I retort with a shrug. That put a glint of fire in her eye. "Well? Get on with it Alcedonia. What half cocked scheme has you looking for me this time?" I query as I raise an eyebrow at her. "Don't tell me, let me guess. You've been missing my company something serious and need some bait to distract another nasty for you?" She laughs as she shifts her weight to her other side, crosses her arms, and takes an interest in the pillar next to her.

"Oh please Nova, don't be ridiculous. I would not waste time and energy thinking of you." Alcedonia reaches into her cloak, pulls out an envelope, and tosses it to the floor in front of me. "I was simply hired to make a delivery." I huff again.

"Looks like your job is done then," I say as I nod to the door leading to the city.

"Not quiet," she says with a sigh. "The second part comes after you read that." Her one hand flips around nonchalantly to indicate what she had thrown. Eyeing the envelope, I can see that there is no seal and laugh at the obvious attempt to catch me in a vulnerable position.

"Seeing as you've already read it , if there's even a message in there, how about you just tell me what it says so we can end this already." I really hope that sounded stronger than I feel. The last time I saw Alcedonia was nearly the last time I saw anything. The sword I have now has no hope against her's and I am just as aware of it as she is. Even if I had my shield, it'd probably do me more harm than good against that blade. She gives an exasperated sounding sigh and tosses up her hands.

"Fine. Always making things more difficult than necessary," she mutters as her eyes roll. "Your dear old dead daddy has a friend who is a collector of sorts and is owed a rather hefty debt. His name is not in the message and I'm not to tell you. He wants you to go to Ebonheart in Morrowind and stay at the Ebony Flask, where he will find you to discuss how you will pay the debt owed to him." She sounds as annoyed by this as I am and draws a breath before continuing. "He's fully aware of this trouble you have with Windhelm, including what you have yet to pay the city, as well as the guards' standing orders if you try to leave before paying it. He sent me to give you this message, take care of Windhelm, and escort you to Ebonheart. You've just been lollygagging around at the Cold Moon Inn and I got bored waiting around for you to get things taken care of, so I decided to see if I could get you moving a little quicker." I scoff at her for implying she was trying to help me.

"Enough with the horse shit already; you were hoping I could handle the expenses myself so you could pocket the purse Mr. Mysterious sent with you." I scowl down at the note laying on the floor still. On one hand, this new development solves the last problem I have with Windhelm and I'll be free of this infernal city finally. On the other hand, I'd be trading my trouble with Windhelm for a long trip with sub-par company to an unknown place to see an unknown man to pay an unknown debt in an unknown way. That's a few more unknowns than I'm particularly comfortable with, especially with Alcedonia being involved with any of it, but at this point its either the unknown or the rafters, and I'd prefer to die outside the walls of Windhelm.


End file.
